


i promise you're enough

by deadcrush



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anya Lives, Artist Clarke, Asexual Character, CEO Lexa (The 100), F/F, Foreign Language, LGBTQ Themes, Loss of Virginity, Minor Costia/Lexa, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, Protective Octavia, Shy Lexa (The 100), Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa, very gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:24:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcrush/pseuds/deadcrush
Summary: Lexa is the youngest CEO in New York. She is in charge of her own company created after spending eight years in Japan, away from her family and friends.Clarke recently moved to New York for work. She's living her dream: work thanks to her art and her paintings.But meet Lexa wasn't in her plan. Lexa is someone hard to understand, difficult to interact with, is... a mystery.Lexa, on the other hand, is not capable to understand herself, her own feelings and desires. But Clarke... is different, is someone precious who Lexa don't want to lose.orthe one in which Clarke is very clear on what she wants and loves. Lexa seems to be incapable to love and live a life that is not only based on work.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, guys. This is my first story on AO3. I know that it seems to be like every other Clexa story but let me explain something. This story is different because I want Lexa to be in the spectrum of asexuality. I also want to tell you, through this story, the path of an asexual person: the realization, the problems, and how to tell the others about you.  
> In addition, the character of Lexa is very autobiographical: her background, story, work and studies, fears and relationships.  
> So, for now, this is my idea but maybe it can change. If you want, you can tell me your opinion on this point.  
> Second point: English is not my first language. I use English at work but I never wrote a story in English. I have already 50 pages (30,000 words) written in my native language that I'm translating in my free time. So, if someone wants to beta my translations is more than welcome, and I would appreciate it A LOT.  
> Have a nice reading, see you at the end.

There's something that no-one would ever understand: an artist's mind.  
Inside the artist's mind, there are a lot of aspects that an ordinary citizen, a casual worker, an occasional entrepreneur, doesn't have. Inside the mind of an artist the two hemispheres communicate intensely, they read each other, and the result is enthusiastic: the union of millions of different faces and aspects, the unconscious bonded with the rational part of the soul, and, sometimes, the past becomes art.  
Strange to say, but the person who was observing the painting is part of those people that wouldn't ever understand the mind of an artist.  
Well, her lips were ajar like she was in a state of ecstasy. Her eyes, that fast touched all the painting, seemed curious. Her eyebrows were slightly arched: a clear sign of her continuous research of painting's meaning.  
"Oh, I can see that this surprised you too" said a voice coming from her back.  
A little grin appeared on her face. In the meantime, her eyes moved fast on the small plat just near the painting.  
_'Author: Anonymous; Title: 'Voices'; Year: 2017'_.  
"I can tell you a little secret. But only because you are… you" said the man behind her again.  
Nod is always a great answer in these cases, she knew that too, and at that moment, she was affirmatively moving her head.  
"Is not really 'anonymous'. This artist will be part of my gallery very soon. There will be an announcement shortly. Is this a good purchase for me?"  
Finally, the young woman turned her face to the voice that tormented her during the piece of art's observation.  
"Yes, Cage is a good purchase for your gallery"  
The woman, with long, wavy, dark hair, exited the room that contained only that big painting. She thought that was too big, even for Cage standards.  
If you looked at that woman, at that moment, you would think: very elegant. In reality, she was much more than elegant. She was dressed in tight and refined pants with white symbols on an intense blue background; a white shirt stitched in her pants that alone will worth a thousand dollars and a jacket of the pants' motive.  
The briefcase was held tight by hands that were adorned with thin rings.  
The only part of her who remained inside that gallery was her thought: " _What the artist wanted to say?"_  
This is the question that torments us all when we are in front of something we do not understand, to a picture that apparently makes no sense to us, but at the same time triggers an emotion within us. So, we need to name that feeling, and the only way to do this is to know that the artist wanted to say. And then, carry that meaning into our lives.  
When a human being does not understand something, he attempts to copy the solutions of others, those already used in other situations, and adapt them to themselves, to the one thing that he can't understand. With art, it is the same. Art is just the mirror of man.

  
_"Where are you? I'm trying to call you from days"_  the voice on the other side of the phone was scratching because the signal was not the best.  
"On the Alpi" her voice, on the other hand, was quiet and relaxed.  
_"What?! You should be in Paris to close the deal"_  
"I've already done that. I took care of everything. They signed the contract. They are in" if someone had seen it at that time, he would have doubted the great businesswoman who she was: a shoulder bag, a windbreaker, a pair of socks and mountain pants. The look, however, was always the same: determined and fierce.  
_"Then why do not you come back?"_ the voice on the other side asked.  
"Anya, do not worry, I know that I have a meeting tomorrow in New York, but now I need to be alone for a bit"  
The answer was a sight on the other side of the communication. _"What car do you want at the airport?"_  
"The Maserati" she said, with conviction. "See you tomorrow Anya" the brunette closed the call before Anya could tell a world.  
Her green eyes, expressive and beautiful, were lost along the profile of the mountains in front of her. It was awesome to think how the earth's only force had created all the mountains, she said in her mind. That wild beauty that is at the same time delicate was something that every time took off every word and even the breath in her.  
Humans could destroy everything in a wink. The glacier behind her could disappear in years; flowers could be extinguished and animals too. This instability had a taste and a strange charm that woman felt as pure beauty. She had learned to name this feeling. She learned to know the beauty of impermanence with the word wabi-sabi, an elusive concept that was reflected in the beauty of the impermanence of things. And the _wabi-sabi_ is just this: to recognise that, unlike many other things, what the woman was facing, one day would no longer exist and enjoy that state impermanence.  
In her view, Japanese always had the exact words to describe feelings and emotions without losing their charm.  
She decided to resume his journey and continue to descend until she got to the car.  
Unfortunately, her free time was running out. Not that she wasn't used to it. It was normal: the little spare time she had, was always reduced to one or two days, hours spent on Delta Airlines' aeroplanes or lounges.  
When she arrived at her hotel, she took a fresh shower, as always. As the water gently caressed her slightly tanned skin, her brain couldn't stop thinking about that painting. She has always loved art. Art of every historical period and every importance, from the local artist to the important one. So, even though she chose a different path for her career (one far from art), she has always tried to stay in touch with it still maintaining a bond with art.  
So after a stressful meeting, after being stuck in her office for hours, she was used to calling her driver and visit one of the many exhibitions in New York. Sometimes they were some unique modern artist; sometimes they were the ones with ancient painting coming from Europe or others were photographic exhibitions. In short, the subject did not matter: the important thing was to go there, to live it, to understand the concept, to stay speechless, astonished, to spot the brushstrokes and get lost in their particles.  
When she found herself in the car, all his suitcases had already been moved inside a clear sign that the departure time was very close.  
In New York, Japan, or wherever she wanted, she could afford (and choose to use) a personal driver. That was a fortune on many sides: not to worry about the route, the traffic, the parking lot, but above all, it was possible to work even during the ride. There was one thing she would never give up: driving along the Italian streets that were narrow, curved and consequently fun. Another point in favour was the beauty of those roads: they cut along the vineyards or are overhanging the most beautiful cliffs in Europe.  
Along the way to the airport, she decided to make a small stop at her favourite Italian tailor, an indispensable step in every little trip to Italy. Zegna is known to do only men's suits, expensive men's suits. This did not matter to her and will never matter. She wanted quality, refined materials, tailor-made products, that all of this was created for a man or a woman, wasn't the important thing. Someone says that those suits have never been so good on any man compared to her, others say that she could even dress with closed eyes, she would be beautiful in the same way.  
The price was not a problem, a $1500 business suit was a reasonable amount in her life, and she could give you at least fifteen good reasons to buy a suit of that cost.

She landed in New York where her driver, Ray, was waiting for her in the car just in front of the exit. He graciously picked up her luggage, opened the white and clean door and started the luxurious vehicle.  
"Ray, we go straight to the meeting" she said from the seats behind, opening her laptop on her long legs.  
Not that she needed to go over the topic of the meeting again, she had already known all the details and patterns of every single slideshow from days. In her head, all was already set and clear. But, she possessed this desire for perfection that gripped her every time. Everything had to be perfect, but most of all, she had to exploit every one of her capabilities and potentials. This for never stop testing and overcoming her limits, both professional and not.  
She put her headphones in her ears, and a sweet classical music spread into her ears, helping her concentrate.  
When she arrived in front of the large glass building, Ray opened the door for her: "Miss, we arrived"  
She put her laptop back in her briefcase, pulling her headphones into her pocket and moving a hand in her hair. Her face was relaxed and without any makeup. Probably the weight of flight and jet lag didn't even touch her. Also, she always thought that makeup was used way too much by young modern women, so she had decided to use it as little as possible.  
The large hall surrounded by large glasses greeted her. She went into the building alone and determined as always: she walked fast to the elevator with a stoic and concentrated face, with her briefcase regularly in her hand. The doors closed in front of her, and as always, no one decided to take the elevator with the woman.  
The usual black wood table was waiting for her in the conference room. There were about fifteen men - naturally all men - sitting at the table, that occupied most of the room's space.  
From the big windows, the New York skyline was out in front of their eyes, and thirty floors beneath them there was the typical frenzy of New York.  
She'd always loved that view. The first time she saw New York she was a tiny little girl in comparison to those vast palaces, but she was already in love.  
She came into the conference room like a hurricane, saying a quick "Good morning". She placed the briefcase on the table, then pulled out her laptop and connected it to the cable. Behind her, the screen lit up with graphics and figures. "We start right away with the most crucial part. The Paris company is with us so, it will be our first client in Europe" she said proudly.  
The men at the table nodded happily.  
"I want a contract draft on my table tonight" she announced, looking at the legal part of the table. They nodded quickly.  
"Now, let's follow the agenda" she said.  
The words flowed smoothly and easily from her mouth; her hands frantically gestured when was taken from the speech, sometimes she adjusted her jacket and controlled her watch.  
This was her life from the second year of university, with her abilities she could have two meetings at one time.  
At the crucial moment of the speech, one of the fifteen men interrupted the young woman. She found herself on earth again.  
"Excuse me, I think you should place someone in Paris to examine the future collaboration" said the man with round black glasses.  
"I will go to Paris personally to check on everything"  
"Excuse me again, but I don't think you can go every week to check our new partners" he replied.  
"Do you think that I can't do it? You're saying that I'm not capable?" she said, placing both palms on the dark table.  
"No, but I think it's better to have someone stable in Paris"  
Looking at her own hands, she just grinned.  
"What is the name of this company?" she asked seriously.  
"Woods Ltd"  
"Good. And who is the boss?"  
"Alexandria Woods"  
"That's me, good. I hope you have understood the meaning"  
He nodded shyly.  
"Even if I put someone stable over there, I would go every week to check that "someone stable", so next time before suggesting recommendations that I have already planned and thought, think about who I am and what I did in these years. But above all, how I did those things"  
Her voice was steady and stable, echoing in the silence of the room.  
  
"Mr. Wallace, do you already miss me?" she said answering her phone.  
With the other hand, she poured some fresh water into a large glass.  
_"Oh yes, Lexa"_ the voice on the other side of the communication giggled. _"I want to officially invite you the gallery party that will be held on Friday. We will announce our last purchase, the same one that you saw in Paris"_  
"Cage, thank you, but I do not know if I'll be in Paris that night" she said, taking a sip.  
_"The presentation will be in the New York's gallery, so you can't bail the party"_  
"I'll be there" she said, sitting on her leather couch, looking at the lights of New York's skyscrapers.  
_"I'll put a +1 near your name, just in case"_  said the man before ending the call.  
Lexa stared thoughtfully out of the window.  
Then she took the phone between her fingers and quickly composed a phone number.  
"Anya?"  
She took another sip.  
"Yes, I missed you at the meeting today, without my COO isn't the same. I need a favour. I need someone for Friday night; you know what to do"


	2. Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I want to give a big shout-out to Isabella who is helping me with the translations :)

"Do you need anything else?" Anya asked through the glass door.  
Surely, Anya had a unique beauty. Her almond-shaped eyes made her face dynamic and charismatic; her sculpted cheekbones paired with the colour of her eyes made her look fierce as well.  
If anyone had seen Anya and Lexa together during every meeting, they would have thought the pair had been born to destroy every competition and rival company and to reign over the business world.  
Fortunately for them, Anya and Lexa didn't share the same job at Woods Ltd. Anya had always had a predilection for numbers and accounts, understanding any report coming to her desk came very easy to her. She alone had probably saved and earned the company millions of dollars by avoiding to sign contracts with clauses unfavourable to the Woods, smartly managing money and by not being fooled by the banks which will bury you under mountains of paperwork hoping that you will not read the tricky little clause inside.  
In short, Anya knew where to look and what to look for.  
Lexa, on the other hand, was good with numbers, yes, but had some hidden talents that only emerged with time. Marketing, managing the company; being a charismatic and intense leader and all that comes with such a gift was her thing. How to put this? She was a real leader: charismatic but determined, empathic but strong. An independent and unbreakable woman, a model for many people inside the business world and beyond. In short, Lexa was a name that carried not only the image of a company but also that of a well-identifiable lifestyle and thought.  
"No thank you, Anya. I'm okay" the brunette replied, without looking away from the computer in front of her.  
The contract for the Paris company had to be perfect, yet it seemed that Woods's legal department was not being very careful about the details. Lexa was reviewing the contract once again before passing it into Anya's wise hands.  
"Is there anything else I can do?" She asked without entering Lexa's large office.  
"Did you do that favour I asked for?"  
"She's in the car with Ray; they are waiting for you" she said, nodding.  
"Thanks" said the young CEO.  
"You need to explain to me your obsession with bringing some girl with you at every event! Seeing how much you pay for them, I hope they come home with you and stay the night" Anya, across the room, raised an eyebrow and a mischievous smirk started to grow on her face.  
"I pay them a lot for a good reason, but you will never know what it is" Lexa said coolly, slightly bothered by the woman's joke.  
Anya rolled her eyes and then, exasperated by Lexa's behaviour, walked to the elevator.

"Clarke, please calm down!"  
"Raven, you can't understand! This dress makes me look fat, and in half an hour the event at the gallery starts!"  
The hands of the latina leaned on Clarke's shoulders and energetically shook her a little: "Clarke, come on! You're okay; you're sexy, stylish and beautiful! So stop worrying about the dress. Now we call a Uber, and we show New York who Clarke Griffin is, baby!"  
Clarke's response was only a doubtful and insecure look, but they needed to go. She took her purse and the duo went out, just in front of the main door, where their friend and the Uber were waiting for them.  
That was how Clarke was like: impulsive and, at the same time, insecure. This could sound odd, but it's the truth. Clarke pushed herself beyond her own limits: she was brave and strong, but right before taking the plunge, she grew hesitant. Just like a tightrope walker in the middle of their path, who suddenly start wondering how they're going to walk back. She needed to be reassured, even if Clarke was careful to never show this side of herself that much. Luckily, her dearest friends knew her very well, and they knew that Clarke was sure about this and that she only needed a little push.  
The blonde knew one thing: that evening's event would be decisive for her career. That wasn't too much, but it was as much of a certainty as few other things in her life. You know that moment when your career is at its pivotal point? The moment it takes a right turn, and you can't see what's around the corner? Clarke was stuck not only in a crowded Uber, but also in that decisive moment. Around her, her friends tried to distract her and make her mind wander elsewhere, but she found herself in a bubble where her only thoughts were related to what was going to happen.  
The blonde would have to go to the back of the gallery, wait for Mr Wallace to announce her and then hope everything would go well. Clarke had not yet understood precisely why Mr Wallace wanted her announcement to remain a secret. Clarke needed to stay "anonymous" until the gallery's event, supporting what she was certain was a marketing strategy, but she was confident in Cage's tactics. Cage had created an aura of mystery around Clarke Griffin, and the most important benefactors of the gallery were intrigued by this mysterious artist that Cage kept talking about.  
Of course, Clarke, understanding Cage's smart game, had decided to play along with him and follow his dictates: "Do not say anything to anyone, do not show yourself until I tell you to do so and keep painting because everyone will buy your paintings". These were the words that had been echoing in the artist's head for months now.  
But at that moment, on the way to the gallery, Clarke felt the strange fear that Cage's words were just words blossom in her chest. "What if no-one finds my paintings valuable once my identity is revealed? Perhaps anonymity is something that intrigues buyers and lovers of art, perhaps the right move to do is stay anonymous", these were the thoughts that ran through Clarke's head in that crowded Uber.  
Luckily, the Uber was faster than her thoughts and before Clarke could continue to brood in doubt, she was in the back of the gallery.  
The three girls headed to the meeting point chosen by Cage.  
"Mr Wallace" Clarke began, her hand reaching out to the man.  
"Clarke, good to see you. Finally, the big day has arrived!"  
A nervous smile was painted on the girl's face, her cheeks shaking a bit because of her restlessness. Her two friends soon arrived behind her with a Martini and innocent smiles. The man in front of them answered with a dissenting frown.  
"Oh, believe me, Mr Wallace, Clarke needs a drink. I swear it will be the only glass she will have tonight" Octavia said, putting a hand on her heart.  
The curator of the gallery thought for a moment and then decided to let the girls do what they wanted. Then he turned to Clarke seriously: "Before the guest arrive I would like you to take a tour of the gallery"  
Clarke began to walk among the big plasterboard walls. Her works were all exposed and the lights were in tune with the colours of the paintings. Her heart began to beat frantically inside her chest as if it was tight in there.  
Clarke had never seen all her works displayed in one place, grouped methodically and ready to be seen by all New York. Honestly, she had never even thought she would live a situation like that in her life. Nonetheless, her paintings were hung in there, waiting to be looked at, bought and appreciated. It could have been a dream, yet the chills on her skin reminded her that it was all true.  
The visit path had been organised in a very detailed way by Cage's collaborators, and Clarke loved the result.  
"Clarke, I hate to interrupt, but the first guests are coming, it's better if you go back to your hiding place" Cage said, taking her under his arm.

The press was massed outside the main entrance of the gallery, ready to capture the many guests of Mr Wallace. When the first luxurious car pulled over near the beautiful blue carpet leading to the entrance, flashes and cameras started their bright wars. The guests and their companions exited their cars one by one, were photographed and then, following the carpet, entered the vast palace.  
Cage's guests were many and diverse: ranging from other artists of his gallery to musicians, journalists, writers, but also great doctors and entrepreneurs.  
When Lexa arrived at the gallery, the party was only just starting. Lots of journalists were still outside, probably because the list of guests was still very long. Lexa came out elegantly from the Mercedes in her suit, patiently perfected by the hands of the best tailor in New York. Under the deep blue jacket, there was a white shirt wisely adorned with an ice-coloured tie held by a firm silver knot, in harmony with the cufflinks on her wrists.  
She opened the door to her beautiful date. Her companion was an emerging actress whose name was already growing in fame due to her excellent performances. She was, of course, at least as beautiful as Lexa, if not more. The girl was wrapped in a gorgeous silvery dress that perfectly complemented the blue suit of the businesswoman.  
The photographers, seeing that delicate, sweet and intimate gesture, went crazy. As a matter of fact, no one else before Lexa had yet been so gallant to their companions that night. The two girls didn't spare the photographers any glance nor interest and they walked right to the entrance of the gallery.  
Lexa Woods didn't like being in the spotlight.  
The brunette knew Cage's gallery well but, once she entered, she was astonished just like she had been in Paris. Her green eyes were lost again in the canvases that surrounded her; the colours almost swallowed her body whole and the woman felt almost helpless in front of that beauty. The paintings still carried that strange sensation and emotion she remembered from Paris.  
The gallery had been set up with a compulsory path that all people had to follow: it unfolded through the different themes of the artist, and divided the paintings according to the colours prevailing in their canvases. It started with cold colours such as black, grey and blue and gradually reached the warm tones of red and orange. At the end of the path, the last piece reigned over a massive white wall: it was the same painting she had seen in Paris. She immediately recognised it even as she was still a bit far away. Her feet moved almost automatically towards the painting, forcing her companion to increase the speed of their walk.  
She couldn't resist the charm of looking at it again, wondering about the meaning of it again. The plate beside the big picture was always the same, the title had not changed, and in her opinion said nothing about the piece of work.  
'Voices'? According to the most rational part of Lexa, there was no correlation between something audible and something tangible like a painting. One could not be translated into the other and vice versa: it was conceptually impossible.  
So the saying goes: not everyone can understand the mind of an artist.  
Her eyes wandered, desperately looking for a sign on the canvas, a clue about its meaning... to no avail.  
When the young actress at her side brought her back to the ground by linking their arms, she said with a sweet smile: "Why don't we go to the buffet?"  
The brunette nodded sharply, sliding her arm out of the redhead's grip.  
Lexa knew that approaching the buffet meant that many of her colleagues, rivals, acquaintances from all over New York and beyond, would come to greet her and entertain superficial conversations. She also knew that such things came with the package: being a young and successful manager also meant smiling without anything to smile for and entertaining unpleasant guests.  
Indeed, as soon as the two approached the buffet, Lexa was immediately abducted by the various businessmen invited by Cage: "Miss Woods, I saw your interview on Business Harvard Review. I wanted to personally offer you my congratulations" said a man on his thirty.  
"Thanks Mr Warren, I'm glad you read it. We don't work in the same field, but your business ethics have always been an example to me" Lexa was good with words, she knew where to hit people; how to flatter them; when to be diplomatic and, more importantly, when not to. She always had the right words for everyone, the solution to every problem, and when she had such conversations, she always knew all about the topics and their details. She was sure that was the crucial part: every single time, she had thoughtful insights to share about problems, news, historical events and so on. The woman believed that was the first step for impress people: surprise them by making them rewrite and change their opinion about you, make sure they don't forget your name easily.  
When the man disappeared, Lexa's companion asked, with perhaps a veil of shyness: "Is your life always like this? Work, work-related events, work, work, home, interviews, and so on?"  
"Tipically, yes" Lexa answered indifferently as she looked at the guests in the room chatting in small groups.  
"Don't you get bored?"  
"Almost never"  
"At any rate, I would recommend this prosecco" said the woman to her side, giving her a glass of sparkly liquid.  
The evening continued quietly between one glass of wine and the other, chatting with various guests about stock markets and the US foreign policy. Meanwhile, the young actress, who had little interest in economy and its derivatives, enjoyed the vast buffet.  
But when the lights went out theatrically, all the guests realised that the time had finally come. A few of them uttered sounds of surprise when a bright light illuminated Cage. He was on a small stage in the middle of the room, and all the eyes were on him.  
"Ladies and gentlemen, I haven't invited you here just to talk about Trump and business as you sip my expensive champagne... It's time to introduce to you the new artist of the Wallace Gallery. Before telling you who our mysterious 'anonymous' is, I would like to thank Alexandria Woods, who is here with us tonight, for her precious contribution and support to our gallery" Cage said, raising a glass of champagne.  
The guests burst into applause and Lexa, with a professional smile, raised her glass to Cage.  
"Returning to the anonymous: the artist is young, a river of creativity and talent, but above all she is a woman. I'm pleased to announce that Clarke Griffin has officially been welcomed to our family!"  
At that point, Clarke timidly walked up to Mr Wallace. The young artist was smiling nervously, the tremor in her cheeks had not abandoned her, but all the guests could see in her were her regality and elegance.  
Finally, after years of tireless work, she could enjoy her well-deserved applause, the one she had dreamed of since she was little.  
"She's all yours, now! I'm sure you have questions and praises to make" Mr Wallace said as he got off the stage.  
And then all the guests ran up to the two right beneath the small stage to commend and introduce themselves to the new artist, all skilfully stuffed with smiles and beautiful words, of course.  
Lexa, by contrast, didn't move in any direction. She kept sipping her champagne and her gaze was lost as her calculating mind worked furiously. She, always ready for anything, hadn't thought about the possibility that those strokes had been hiding a young woman about her own age. She was surprised nobody else had been.  
"We can go now" Lexa said coldly.  
"But the guests are still here" the woman beside her weakly protested.  
Lexa's answer never came, she buttoned up her jacket and walked toward the exit. The actress followed her and once in front of their car, the young manager opened the door slowly. The two slipped inside the car and went far away from the gallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this new chapter! I would like to know you're opinion, so please comment :)  
> Bye ;)


	3. This is us colliding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: thanks to Isabella for helping be in the translation! 
> 
> I suggest listening to this song "This is us colliding - Talos" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5emojKdW1Hk during the chapter. You will understand when to play it.

When the most important day of your life comes and goes, sometimes it seems as if nothing has changed. You feel exactly as you felt before, the same person of hours ago with only a few more behind you. "What has changed?" we all ask ourselves at least once, after sleeping past that night which turned out to be the bridge between our old life and the new one. At least once, all of us have found ourselves in a messy bed with messy hair, eyes wandering and a sense of helplessness seeping out from every pore, and we are left to wonder why nothing is happening. Then different theories slowly emerge: did I not enjoy it? Is my breakthrough yet to come? Maybe I should wait a few more days?  
This was pretty much what went on in Clarke’s head after the gallery event.   
The artist was still in her pyjamas, lying comfortably on the couch of her house as she stared at the wall in front of her. She felt no change, no difference, everything was how it had always been. The first line of a song that had obsessed her for days was still constantly playing in her mind: "The moment that hope is something you don’t notice any more". The singer had probably been through that bad sensation before her.  
To convince herself that day had not been a mere dream, she decided to get two fundamental things: snacks and her laptop.   
Someone would turn up their noses at snacks at 8:30 in the morning, but for the blonde they were a necessary element of her mornings.   
"Clarke!" Raven screamed across the house.  
Hearing her friend’s loud voice, Clarke wondered if it really had been a good idea to move in with her friend, after all.  
"Yesterday evening is everywhere on the news!" she shouted euphoric sitting near Clarke on the couch.  
As soon as the girl's dark eyes met Clarke's bright ones, the other became alarmed: "Hey, what’s wrong?"  
"Nothing. Show me the news!"  
The two began to read all sorts of comments about the evening, from both the trivial online magazines to the most important and known ones.  
_"The new artist of the Wallace Gallery everyone had been talking about has finally been revealed: Clarke Griffin, the young Californian artist, lands in the Big Apple under the protection of Cage Wallace himself. The guests were amazed and surprised by both the artist's works and by the charming painter herself. Among the many guests of the evening, our cameras spotted Dante Wallace, Senator Marcus Kane and young manager Alexandria Woods, with which we have an exclusive interview you can read all about below._  
_Clarke Griffin's works will be on display at the Wallace Gallery throughout the whole month, and we recommend you go see them because this right here is an opportunity not to be missed!_  
_You can discover further details about the event by checking out our photos and votes on the outfits of the evening."_  
"I bet Cosmopolitan didn't include mine among the best outfits of the evening" Raven said when she finished reading the article, with a fake offended tone.  
The two friends immediately began to scroll through the official photos of the evening. The first picture showed the painter posing with Cage. She was smiling, she was beautiful and finally relaxed.  
"You look great, Griffin!"  
"Pff, keep going. I want to know the ranking"  
"I didn't know you were a ranking kind of girl"  
Clarke playfully pinched Raven’s forearm and Raven quickly went on with the photos, avoiding commenting on this new side of her friend once again.  
"They put her in second place?!" Raven pointed at the woman in the picture, shocked. "I could put on a better outfit with my eyes closed while drunk!" she added, almost insulted.   
Clarke laughed a lot as she listened to her friend comment the bizarre outfits of the evening. That was a side of Raven she liked: she could be funny and ironic but at the same time straightforward and tough.  
"The best outfit for the evening goes to Alexandria Woods, with her handmade suit and the impeccable elegance with which she always carries herself"  
"Honestly, I’ve never heard of this Woods woman," said the artist's friend with a thoughtful look.  
"Probably because you're not a wealthy undergraduate in Economics"  
The two laughed in unison.  
"No, I mean, I did hear something about her. Isn't she the one who donated a lot of money to charity?"  
To Clarke, the name sounded familiar, and she had heard of Alexandria Woods thanks to the fundraiser she had created, supported and sponsored by herself.  
"Apparently not everyone who has money is selfish"  
This time it was the bell’s turn to stop the conversation.   
On the other side of the door, the third friend waited impatiently.  
Octavia was the kind of girl who needed to talk to her friends about everything, be it futile and superfluous or something of supreme importance and urgency. This time, especially due to the great evening, Octavia couldn't wait to chat with her friends even if they had been separated only for a few hours.   
"And here's Blake with coffee!" Raven opened the door, happy to see her friend and the three Starbucks cups in her hands.  
"I need coffee. I need coffee right. Now."  
Clarke sprung up from the couch and walked to the kitchen, where the other two were already sipping on their long black coffees and stealing candies from Clarke's cupboard.  
"So girls, want to talk about last night?" said the younger of the three, bouncing with excitement. "Clarke, I heard some comments about your works while I was hiding among people. They were all amazed! Some of them are eager to buy your paintings! And have you seen how rich they are? Damn, with one of their watches I could pay my rent for a year... so I’d say they’ll buy them for sure!"  
While Octavia spoke in bursts almost without taking a breath, the other two smiled behind their large cups. "What are you laughing at? Clarke has taken the plunge! She made her breakthrough! And we will live at her expenses for the rest of our glorious lives!"  
Perhaps they hadn't hidden so well, or maybe Octavia had known them for so long she could notice any change in their mood without too much effort.  
The three laughed together, trying to finish their coffees without damaging the kitchen furniture too much.  
"Anyway, Octavia, I don't know if you've read any of it... but this morning all the newspapers were talking about Clarke and her event" Raven said with a little pride in her voice.  
"Oh, really? That’s great, a fantastic start! How do you feel about it, Clarke?"  
"Honestly, I still have to wrap my head around it... last night feels like a dream. You know when you can't believe something but you are somehow conscious it happened? There, that’s what I’m going through. First we moved, now this and having to work for both the gallery in California and Cage... everything seems to be going fast, out of my control. I'm very happy, but I thought I would be changed by all of this, and yet, for now, I don't feel any changes"  
"Perhaps because you drank too much champagne!"  
As usual, Raven's joke and delight infected the girls.  
"Okay, enough talking. I have to get out of this thing and go to the gallery or Cage will fire me on my first day" Clarke said, leaving the kitchen as she headed for the bathroom.

 

Lexa's life was relatively simple because it was a well-oiled routine that never stopped.  
The alarm clock was rigorously set for early in the morning, the following shower was strictly cold and the coffee was always an espresso without sugar. As the coffee machine was doing its job, Lexa turned on her computer almost mechanically.  
Night wasn’t a moment of rest for Lexa and her work. The woman had to deal with companies in the whole world, so emails arrived even in the middle of the night. In the morning, therefore, she had to read them and answer the most important ones. The most annoying part was that the other side of the world worked while she slept and slept while she worked, which meant that meetings and calls at four in the morning were part of her job sometimes as well.  
And yet, none of that weighed too heavily on Lexa. It had taken her a while to get used to it, but it had become her usual routine, so it wasn’t too big of a deal.   
After answering some emails and sipping her black coffee, she moved into her walk-in closet to get ready for the long day ahead.  
Some would say that her walk-in closet was like a whole other apartment and I think maybe they wouldn't be too wrong about that.   
Everything was organised in an orderly way that bordered on the obsessive: the wardrobes on the right contained clothes and suits for work, those on the left clothes for events and evenings.  
The drawers held ties, necklaces, bracelets and other accessories such as cufflinks and tie-pins.  
Next to drawers for underwear and socks, some shoes occupied the entire area at the back of the cabin. Only a small corner was dedicated to casual clothes, those that Lexa just put on at home or on few occasions with her friends.  
The other peculiarity in Lexa Woods' everyday life since the days of College was to hear the first news of the day by turning on the radio while trying to choose what to wear. Sometimes, if she woke up in a good mood, she let herself be carried away by music and not by stock market trends, but she had to be very relaxed and serene for that to happen. Once dressed, Ray drove her to work, and she always got there right on time.  
The routine of the CEO was always like this, except when Lexa decided to go running. Running, as well as keeping her in good shape, served as a way of avoiding thinking about work for a few hours: she concentrated on her breathing, her heartbeat and herself for a while.  
The morning after the evening at the Wallace Gallery was not too different from the usual, except for the fact that the young woman had no immediate need to get to work. She thus decided to have a longer breakfast, to put on her running clothes and go running into one of New York's green lungs: Washington Square Park.  
Once past the large arch that reminded her of Paris, she began to warm up and then ran for a solid hour through the green of the park. Once she had finished her usual path, she rested on a bench.  
Just like when she was in the mountains, Lexa would have been unrecognisable to many of her colleagues and competitors: tight shorts, fluorescent yellow shirt and hair tied in a ponytail.  
Anya had sent Lexa a playful message that morning about the event, and it said: _"Your party for boring rich people was successful. Every newspaper photographed you with the beautiful actress I found you. Thank me!"_  
Lexa had never cared about what the newspapers said, what people thought about her dress or her choices. When her career had just begun to grow successful, she had wanted to be judged only for her work. Maybe she had been a little too naive to think it would be like that.   
The newspapers were always talking about her and not exactly about her job, but about everything else. Apparently, the clothes she wore and the people she brought with her to charity events were more important than the results she had achieved in the professional field.   
She didn't even get mad anymore: she had reconsidered and lowered both her expectations and her opinions about journalists and newspapers. Nothing too serious, she thought.   
Realising this had been, more than anything, a positive turning point: Lexa had continued to be who she was, and had even taken care to accentuate her different, unique traits. She wanted to be some sort of example to anyone out there who needed it, but above all, she wanted to make it clear to everyone out there that they could write anything about her because she would continue to be what she was.   
The brunette, thinking about the previous evening, continued to run towards a specific direction.  
She arrived in front of the Wallace Gallery and entered the great hall, still adorned as it had been the night before, without even taking off her headphones. That place was like her home: all the operators and guides knew her, but perhaps none of them had ever seen her in her racing uniform. And yet, the young woman was undeterred. She walked among the works of the artist who finally had a face, a name and surname. Now that she knew the identity of the artist, the paintings seemed to torment her even more than before.  
She stopped in front of the canvas, but not as close as she had done on previous occasions. She decided to stay a bit further away to observe the picture in its entirety. A sweet melody began to echo in her ears, the words of the singer quickly emerging in Lexa's mind, the external noises were wholly softened by her headphones, and her breathing slowly calmed down.  
Immediately, a thought crossed the woman's mind: the song suited the picture. The sweet notes almost seemed to carry her inside the canvas as if the singer were bringing Lexa into the painting and beyond. The woman continued to observe the colours on the canvas, focusing on the delicate voice coming from her iPod. The temptation was to go near the painting and gently touch it, almost as if hoping to perceive its meaning.  
When the song ended, the bubble in which she had been suddenly burst. She distinctly heard a voice in the background that didn't come from her playlist. She turned slowly toward the sound, taking off the left headphone.  
"I was saying that you're looking at it from the wrong angle"  
Lexa could not hear those words, which the woman had probably repeated for the second time, because she was still lost in that partial rapture she had been living in two or three seconds earlier.  
The brunette stood still on the spot with wide-eyes.  
Her reaction elicited another sentence from the blonde on her left: "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you" she said with a genuine smile.  
Lexa shook her head slightly. Then she recognised her. She was the new artist: Clarke Griffin.   
"Sorry, I was distracted by the music. What did you say?" Lexa began with a soft voice, trying to make up for the initial moment of embarrassment.  
"The secret of the painting can be unveiled only by looking at it from the right angle". Clarke put her hand on Lexa's exposed forearm, trying to push her slightly to the right.  
"I have been running for a while, I don’t think it’s wise for you to..." the brunette interjected, promptly slipping her arm away from Clarke.  
Clarke's blue eyes grew as a mute apology gleamed in them, but the only thing she did was nod.  
"Come here, more or less where I am... then you have to crouch down " the blonde almost whispered.  
Lexa reached the artist a few paces from where she had been standing. She would never admit it, but she was curious about what she was about to see. When she assumed the position Clarke had explained to her, she saw a completely different picture, a painting that had probably always been there but never quite visible.  
The brunette remained in that position for an indefinite time, a time that to Clarke seemed a lot for a simple gallery's visitor, too much.   
Clarke had never seen anyone look at a canvas for so long, unless they were an art critic, an artist, or someone in the field. But the young woman next to her kept observing the painting. It seemed almost as if she was trying to internalise, memorise and understand it deeply, completely.  
Lexa’s eyes caressed the figures of what she thought sound waves would look like. They seemed to be alive, almost, because they appeared in motion and were coloured with the most different pigments. The waves all moved towards a precise point that gathered all of them together.  
Lexa was progressively losing herself in the different colours of the canvas, in the abnormality of those irregular and non-linear lines. She kept staring at the focal point of the painting in hope of understanding, after so many tries, the meaning behind it.  
"I wish I could say I understood everything from this angle, but it would be a lie" she said without taking her eyes off the painting. Someone might think that she was afraid of meeting the painter's gaze, but in truth, Lexa was more fascinated by the painting than the other person in the room.  
"What do you want to know?"  
"Its meaning"  
"You should find your own meaning"  
"I want to know yours"  
Not that Lexa hadn’t been crafting her own hypothesis in that precise moment. Maybe the artist had merged two arts? Music and painting divided, but blended in the same picture. It could be one of the many possible meanings of the canvas, but Lexa wanted to stick to the true meaning of the painting, the one coming from the artist herself.  
"Have you ever been in a crowded place?"  
"I don't like crowded places" admitted the young CEO.  
"There are a thousand different sounds coming from the most diverse sources, different tones that mix together, voices and artificial sounds, background music and many other noises. Hearing your voice in a crowded place is difficult and at a concert, for example, it's impossible. In a world made and created to dominate you, you must find your place, your goal and let your voice be heard, even by screaming if necessary-"  
That was what Lexa needed: an explanation and a story connected to the canvas to which she could relate.  
Everything was clearer. That impossible enigma had been clarified, and Lexa couldn't deny feeling even more attracted to the canvas.  
The meaning was almost perfect and she thought that the artist would have to be a thoughtful and reflective person to paint such a work based only on a single feeling that all of us feel every day.  
"Thank you for your explanation" Lexa said, getting back on her feet and trying to stop thinking about the painting.  
"You are welcome, it’s what I’m here for, after all" said the blonde, showing off a warm smile.  
Silence fell between the two, and this was not new to Lexa.   
Whenever she was with new people, especially outside the work environment, her skills in socialising became very limited.  
She had learned to live in what she called her "comfort zone", around her old friends who could be counted on the tips of her fingers. Anya was one of those chosen few, and although she had occasionally tried to push her out of her comfort zone, she had never quite succeeded in it.  
"I just wanted to say your paintings are remarkable, my compliments" she said without thinking too much about it.  
"Thank you, it's very nice to hear that from time to time" another huge smile appeared on the blonde's face.  
"I would guess yesterday evening everyone drowned you in compliments. I also liked the arrangement, very creative" Lexa added.  
"We wanted to change a little bit from the usual exhibitions in chronological order" Clarke chuckled thinking back to when they chose the arrangement with Cage and the effort they put in organising the whole route.  
"May I ask you a question?" Lexa asked. She couldn't resist and stop her curiosity. Only a few times she had found herself alone with an artist she had fully appreciated, and that was one of the few, so she was seizing the opportunity.   
Clarke nodded.   
"Why did you choose this kind of painting?"  
"Do you mean a mixture between abstractionism and realism?"  
Lexa nodded curiously.   
"Do you see the picture behind you? It represents two girls I met at the campus university in California. You can recognise the silhouettes of the two girls, their complexion, the French nose of one of them easily, but in some places the portrait becomes abstract. Because a person is not just a form and a body, but much more. Don't you think so too?"  
"But, if you had finished the portrait it would have still been incredible-" said Lexa.  
"You're probably right. But when I paint I see the world as you can see it in my canvases, I wouldn't be able to do anything different from this" explained the artist.  
Lexa thought carefully about Clarke's words. After all, she wasn't wrong. Just like in everyday life nobody would do something that they hate, eat something they don't like, Clarke painted the world she saw as she wanted, with the technique she liked best.  
"I can understand this logic" Lexa said gently. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. "I'm sorry I have to interrupt our conversation, but duty calls-" the brunette stated looking Clarke in the eye. "At any rate, I'm Alexandria Woods. It has been a pleasure"  
"The pleasure was all mine. I'm Clarke Griffin"  
The brunette answered with a handshake that the artist found incredibly firm, strong and formal. Then Lexa walked out of the gallery with determined steps and rushed home.

  
Once she got to her office, the long marathon of video-conferences and calls that seemed interminable began.  
"Cristine, can you call Cage Wallace?" she asked her secretary.  
She had known Cristine for years now, and she could safely say that she was unique: she understood every problem, she knew how to solve it and above all, she directed the Woods Ltd managers without questioning Lexa too often, thus allowing her not to waste any time on unnecessary internal matters.   
Cristine had been the secretary of many CEOs in New York before ending up at the Woods Ltd. Lexa remembered still the day when, after setting up the company with great difficulties, she had realised she needed to have a personal secretary, and a very good one at that. The following days had seen her try to clear the hall full of people there for the interview. Lexa hated to admit it, but they were all equally prepared, and yet when she had seen Cristine she had realised that she was the right one for her.   
She was a simple woman without short skirts who didn't talk about ambitions just to make a good impression, but rather focused on the practical side of the job.  
The following day, Lexa had understood that she had made the right choice. Cristine was older than Lexa by many years, but she never questioned Alexandria Woods as her superior. But above all, the secretary turned out to be a critical asset of Woods Ltd.  
_"Of course, Miss Woods. What would you have me say to Mr Wallace?"_ asked the voice on the other end of the phone.  
"I would like to know if I could go to his gallery tonight and buy a painting. Let me know the answer by message because I have an important conference with Boston in a minute" she quickly explained while preparing the papers for the long video conference ahead.

 


	4. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm sorry for the delay, I was in China and it was impossible for me to update. Maybe in the chapter, there are some errors... sorry for them, I'm doing my best in translating the chapters in English! If there are some errors please let me know. 
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

"Clarke?" Raven called out, with no result.  
"Claaaarke?" she tried again.  
The blonde at her side shook her head quickly and tried to shake off her own thoughts.  
"Sorry, what were you talking about?" Clarke asked.  
"What happened to you at the gallery? Did a painting fall on your head?" Raven asked ironically.  
Clarke, from the couch, raised an annoyed eyebrow. "I said I'm going shopping. Do you need anything?" the Latina asked exasperatedly.  
"No thanks Raven, I'm good!"  
"See you later then, and try to wake up from your coma because tonight is movie night!" Raven said as she left the house.  
The other woman snorted in response. Clarke loved movie nights with Raven because they had been a tradition during high school for their large group of friends. Although the high school group was now scattered among all states, Raven, Octavia and Clarke still kept their old habits alive. So, unless they had plans to go to a disco, a bar or a pub, Saturday night would automatically become a movie night.  
But that night Clarke wasn't really in the mood: her feet hurt, Cage had been bothering her all day in the gallery without a minute of peace and she didn’t have any inspiration for the new painting she was working on.  
Long story short: she wasn't in the right mood.  
The only positive thing had been the small meeting that morning at the gallery. It had been strange and at the same time satisfying. Clarke had already admitted that she didn't know much about Alexandria Woods, but their accidental meeting had only increased the aura of mystery around her character.  
The phone ringing frantically helped Clarke to wake from her thoughts. When she read the name on the screen she snorted loudly.  
"Cage!" she said with a fake surprised tone.  
"Clarke, dear, sorry if I'm bothering you but I have good news"  
"Tell me everything" she replied, her interest piqued.  
"Alexandria Woods is coming to the gallery to buy your painting, I'm very happy for you!" he said with an exalted tone.  
"Wow... it's the first we sell!"  
Clarke was very happy to have sold a painting — no, she was euphoric. Finally, all the investments made in the past were bearing fruit, all the effort and pain to leave California finally made sense. True, it was a small step, but she had to start somewhere, right?  
"Yes!" He replied from the other end of the phone. "As soon as the other New York entrepreneurs find out that Woods has bought your painting, they will come in droves to the gallery. Don't worry!"  
She giggled in response, glad to learn of this detail about New York's entrepreneurs. Apparently, no one could afford to lag behind Alexandria Woods.  
"I hope you can quickly fill the empty space that will be left on the wall..."  
"Of course Cage. Thanks for the wonderful news," she said, still a bit dazed.  
"You're welcome. Celebrate tonight!" he said, then ended the call.  
Still recovering from the awesome news Mr Wallace had just thrown her way, Clarke heard Raven enter the house. She put the bags down on the kitchen island and both, and at the same time, exclaimed: "You’ll never guess who called me!"  
They laughed together and then Raven silently looked at her friend, who bailed first: "Cage Wallace called me and... Alexandria Woods bought my canvas!"  
A huge smile spread on both their faces as they hugged. "Damn Clarke, this is beautiful news! I'm so happy for you! We have to celebrate, get drunk until we lose consciousness or something."  
"We have to tell Octavia," Clarke said in a giddy, high-pitched voice.  
"Oh, we will do it in person Clarke... because O called me a while ago saying that Tuesday night we are invited to her new crush’s house. She wants us to meet him," she said with a wink and a happy grin.  
For Clarke, Raven and Octavia that could only one thing: an evening filled with alcohol and lots of laughter.

On the other side of New York, Lexa was blocking the elevator door with one foot. "Anya, come on!" she shouted, hoping the woman would listen to her.  
A hurried "coming!" was heard from Anya's office. Then the woman ran into the elevator.  
The whole building was empty because only Lexa and Anya worked on arranging the last details on Saturdays. Indeed, Lexa and Anya never really left work, and constantly dragged along their secretaries who were, at least, rewarded by a higher compensation.  
"Why are you in such a hurry?" she asked, adjusting her hair.  
"I'm going to go buy a painting" said Lexa seriously.  
"Another one? You’re obsessed-"  
"And you're exaggerating. I just decided to invest my money this way. You'll thank me when my paintings are worth more than all your properties put together and your children live a dignified life thanks to my inheritance," Lexa said, almost managing to keep a straight face, making Anya laugh.  
"Oh, Lincoln called. We’re invited to spend Tuesday evening at his place. Apparently, he has a new girlfriend, and he sounded totally smitten! He wants us to meet her," Anya told her.  
The other woman looked at her doubtfully, mutely going over her week’s schedule in her head.  
"Okay, I'll pick you up," Lexa said.  
They got off the elevator and as they neared the large glass sliding doors, Anya said: "He told me to tell you two things: t-shirt and jeans. And his tone was very severe, he was adamant about it... -  
Anya winked at her and then entered her car.

"Cristine?" the CEO called her from her office.  
"Yes?" she approached the glass doors timidly to see what her superior needed.  
"Come inside. We have to arrange the schedules for this week," she said.  
Lexa began by opening her laptop and carefully looking at her calendar. After a short time, the two began to plan every single meeting and appointment day by day. Lexa decided that she wouldn't go to Japan that week but wait until the end of the month since she needed to go to Paris for other important meetings. In the meantime, the woman at her side took note of all these little things in her agenda, so that, should anything happen, she would know what to do.  
"Have you decided where to place the painting?" asked the secretary. She needed to figure out whether to send it to one of the Woods properties or place it the New York home.  
"I was thinking of hanging it in Florida."  
"I could have it sent to Florida today if you give me the green light."  
Lexa thought for a moment. She liked the painting a lot and wanted to see it more often than once or twice a month, yet her house in New York was already full of paintings.  
"All right, send it. And make sure they set it in the right place," Lexa emphasised, despite knowing Cristine would do it even without that clarification. "I'll tell Ray to take you to my house later. I'd like you to grab some clothes for tonight if it's not too much trouble for you."  
"Okay, the usual dark suit? What shirt do you want?" she asked, ready to write down the answer on her agenda.  
"No, get me a t-shirt and some trousers, the leather shoes and the light jacket, message me if you need anything. I'll try, while the others talk and yell all over each other during the video conference, to answer you," she almost snorted. "I think that’s all for now. Thank you very much, Cristine."   
Cristine got up from the chair in front of Lexa's desk and quietly walked out of the office.  
Inside, the young CEO began to answer to the flood of e-mails that had arrived earlier in the morning. It would be a long day.

In a small New York apartment, Clarke was trying to fill the canvas that had been in front of her eyes for months. It was a feeling she had never experienced: even during the darkest moments of her life, the flood of her creativity had never stopped. When she had broken up with Finn, who she had thought was the love of her life, her mind was affected by it, and her body even more. But her artistry, on the other hand, had been enhanced: many of the paintings that she had shown Mr Wallace had come from that particular moment of her life and thanks to those paintings Clarke had entered the graces of Cage Wallace.  
Right then, Clarke didn't know how to deal with the lack of creativity. Perhaps that was due to the fact she didn't even understand where it came from. Clarke had no reason to feel "trapped" or "stuck". She had achieved all that she had hoped for: to live thanks to the profits of painting near her dearest friends, and to be someone. Perhaps she wasn't yet the someone she had dreamt of being, but she was slowly approaching her goal.  
Overwhelmed by hopelessness, she huffed loudly and almost threw the brush against the canvas.  
How should a problem be treated if it has never happened before? What do you do to find the most suitable solution?  
The downside: probably no artist will ever solve a problem rationally. Surely Lexa could show you step by step the best way to solve any mathematical problem and whatnot, but above all she’d know how to get rid of any emotionally or socially unpleasant condition. She would be able to analyse all the data, the possible consequences, the strengths and weaknesses of any possible solution in just ten minutes. Yet most artists are not very familiar with this type of rationality: the one that forces you to calm down, sit on a chair and focus on your breathing.  
For this reason, Clarke found herself walking nervously through the streets of Central Park: she didn't know how to rationalise the problems in her life, she could only react by following her mood and heart.  
After walking for a few minutes, she sat down on a bench. She had brought a small sketch pad and a pencil. She looked around a little but all she saw through her blue eyes reminded her of that abandoned painting at her house. She clenched her teeth and frowned: Clarke didn't want to think about it. Her light-skinned hands squeezed the block and pencil between her fingers until her knuckles turned white.  
She went back to looking around to find a subject, any subject. Suddenly her bright gaze was captured by a tall, blonde woman, probably older than her by few years. Despite being a warm September day with above-average temperatures, the woman wore a light blazer with white and grey stripes. Her long, narrow legs were wrapped in black trousers. The woman was nervously playing with her car keys, rhythmically rolling them around her forefinger.  
Clarke stared at that continuous, endless movement, almost as if it were a ritual. Her pencil began to slide on the sheet of paper and leave distinct marks. Within a few moments, the silhouette of the woman not far from her took shape. Clarke shifted her gaze repeatedly between the woman and her page, afraid to lose any details.  
It soon became apparent that her subject was waiting for someone or something, because soon she began to anxiously walk back and forth.  
When, after ten minutes, the woman's gaze met Clarke's, she was frightened, as if she had been caught while committing a crime. But the stranger chose not to say anything. She smirked as if throwing a challenge her way, "I'll let you continue with whatever you’re doing because I'm curious". Timidly, Clarke got back to drawing, trying to be as discreet as possible.  
At one point bearded man approached Clarke's subject. They shook hands firmly, then began talking animatedly in a low voice. The man took his leave with a grim and serious look, leaving the woman as he had found her. The girl got back to playing with her keys as if nothing had happened. She was probably used to it, Clarke thought.  
Meanwhile, the artist had not stopped doing her job: now the improvised sketch was almost finished. Only little details were missing, such as the bracelet that emerged from one sleeve of the jacket and two small braids hidden in her hair.  
When Clarke lifted her head to look at her unplanned model again, she found the woman right in front of her. In a few seconds, she managed to notice even smaller details that had been escaped her notice until then: her fingers were adorned with numerous rings, the jacket was more worn than it had looked from afar and her facial features were determined as if they were engraved in marble. Yet, strangely, her eyes gave off a unique delicacy, almost like a sweet melody in the middle of the city's noise. A sweet smile appeared on her face.  
"Your friend did not look very happy" Clarke said, returning her eyes to her drawing, hoping the woman wasn't bothered by what she was doing. The girl had not yet expressed any criticism, which was a good sign.   
"District attorneys are always like that when they meet me," she replied without missing a beat, but above all without her little smile leaving her lips.  
"So you're the lawyer who defeats district attorneys?" Clarke asked without looking.  
"Could be."  
The two remained silent. Clarke moved on to draw the shadows of her small portrait, trying to remember the exact position of the woman. The other one continued to walk, uncaring of pose and silence, almost as if she were waiting for the portrait.  
"Should you maybe ask for permission?" the silence was broken.  
"Could be," Clarke aped.  
The other woman laughed a few meters away from the bench.  
Clarke wrote her name on the back of the paper, followed by her cell phone number.  
She stood up and headed to the blonde, then left the paper in her hands, looking into her eyes intensely.  
"I hope you like it…"  
"Niylah," she introduced herself.  
"I hope you like it, Niylah," Clarke said with a grin.  
This is how artists face problems: by wielding their irrationality, even leaving a telephone number to an unknown and very sexy lawyer.  
Clarke was so busy formulating a simple question, "How long before you send me a message with an address?" that she didn't realise Niylah had already done so.  
"Lunch at the bistro between the eighth and the 51st street, 1 pm -Niylah"  
After all, she was not yet completely rusty when it came to these things, she thought.  
Once she arrived home, she undertook the task of deciding what to wear. Something informal? Not knowing what kind of place the bistro was, she picked the middle way: simple trousers and an everyday shirt. She threw on a light leather jacket in case the usual September wind arrived and left the house.  
As she neared the bistro, she noticed the woman standing already in front of the entrance.  
"I thought lawyers were always late," Clarke said humorously, showing off her perfect smile, the smile that always managed to charm everyone, bar none.  
"You must know some very bad lawyers then..." the woman answered with a bit of irony.  
The two entered the small but crowded place. Niylah seemed to be at home there: the waiter at the entrance greeted her by her name. She didn't even have to say that she had booked a specific table: the waiter was already escorting them through the crowd. Once in front of their table, nestled in a corner away from the busiest spots, they sat down and started talking quietly. Clarke learned that Niylah had attended the Columbia University, coming out at the top of her class, immediately finding work as a junior associate position in one of the best law firms in New York. She had then managed to wind her way into the intricate world of lawyers, filled to the brim with mind games and ulterior motives, understanding the most hidden interests of each of her clients and the weaknesses of her rivals.  
The more Niylah spoke, the happier Clarke was to have chosen her own job. She would never survive to constant fights against customers who do not listen to you, to get through all sorts of crap from your superiors, to be locked in a studio for most of the day.  
"Are you happy?" Clarke asked curiously.  
"Of course, I've always wanted to be a lawyer since I can remember! Maybe when I was 9, I thought I wanted to defend the poor and the helpless, then as time passed I changed my mind..."  
"Does your law firm not work on pro bono cases?" she asked again.  
"Sure it does, but their quantity is pretty much irrelevant when compared to the number of business cases," she replied, sipping her red wine.  
Under the strict advice of Niylah, Clarke ordered a meat tartare which according to the blonde was "phenomenal". Their dishes arrived quickly and the topic shifted to Clarke.  
"So Clarke, are you lucky enough to work thanks to your drawings?"  
"Paintings, actually," she corrected.  
"Sorry, I'm not really educated on the subject."  
Clarke smiled and giggled.  
"No problem. At any rate, yes, and for now New York is bringing me luck. It is a passion that grew, like yours, ever since I was a child. My mother surrendered to the idea of my future when at 7 I coloured and drew all over the walls of my house," the two burst out laughing instantly.  
"So you're not from New York?"  
"Oh, no ... I moved here 5 months ago, I'm new here. I was born in California, I lived for a while in New Jersey and then in Germany, then I went back home."  
Niylah gasped.  
"Damn, you travelled a lot! Most I got was going to Texas on behalf of some client."  
Clarke laughed at the joke. "My father worked for the government, so sometimes they had him move for three or four years to some military base somewhere around the world. Obviously, my mother and I followed."  
"I would not have complained," she giggled.  
"I never did!"  
The two continued to talk animatedly and giggle for every stupid joke the other one told. Perhaps the wine had helped them let loose a bit and they got to know each other a little better, which was definitely not unpleasant to Clarke.  
"So you left your boyfriend in California?" Niylah said, calling for the waiter to refill the empty glasses.  
Clarke laughed reflexively. "Oh no! I'm single and happy to be."  
"I like independent women," Niylah said, raising the glass full of wine.  
"I like ambitious lawyers."  
The two glasses touched and the two looked at each other intensely.  
When they finally came out of the bistro, Clarke began saying: "That tartare was fabulous."  
"See? You've already learned something crucial about me."  
"Mhhh, and that is?" she asked.  
"I know how to treat a woman well."  
Clarke raised an eyebrow. "That remains to be seen," she answered with confidence.  
As soon as they arrived at Niylah's apartment and closed the door behind them, their lips clashed hungrily. Clarke found it a bit unsettling to be dizzy due to alcohol on a Tuesday early afternoon, yet there was no denying it. She was used to making rash decisions and then regret them in the morning and act as if nothing had really happened. This habit of hers was manifest more than ever when she was nervous, exhausted and, above all, lacking inspiration. She felt a sense of desperation that she couldn't put into words. She just wanted to stop thinking about everything and everyone, let herself be dragged slowly into what her heart needed.  
Long story short: no rational behaviour could be expected from Clarke when she was stuck in a lack of inspiration.  
"Hey, Monet," said Niylah, switching their positions. "I thought I was clear when I said I knew how to treat a woman," she said challengingly.  
She opened the bedroom door with one hand and in between kisses, she pushed the artist down on the big bed with dark sheets.  
"I repeat: it remains to be seen," she said with a smile.  
Clarke woke up definitely confused. The sun was lowering and fighting among the skyscrapers in New York to get through the blinds. She was naked under the sheets, but Niylah wasn't by her side. She tried to find the strength to get up or even turn around on her stomach, but she couldn't. She breathed deeply the scent of the sheets and the whole room around her: sweet perfume, new furniture, and... sex.  
At that precise moment, a smug smile grew on her face. Images of the previous hours played in her mind, a mixture of voracious mouths and skilful fingers.  
When a foreign weight leaned against the end of the bed, Clarke raised her head slightly, opening her eyes like a tired cat. Her pupils came to rest on the blonde who was, already, again impeccably dressed.  
"Are you dressed because you want me to strip those clothes off of you once more?" Clarke asked, fixing her wavy hair.  
Niylah finished tying her shoes and then turned to Clarke.  
"I would like that very much, but... I have a deposition at six," she said in a very serious tone.  
Niylah came closer and closer to Clarke's face, crawling on the bed.  
"Why does the word deposition sound so sexy to me?" Clarke asked softly.  
"I thought that with all those orgasms you would be satisfied, at least for a while..." she replied, biting Clarke's lip.  
"If I remember correctly you were the insatiable one," Clarke said without missing a beat.  
"Now you need to shower and get dressed, or you'll make me late for deposition, and I'm sure we do not want to explain to the whole office the reason behind my delay."  
When the two were out of the building they glanced at each other and without many words, they parted ways with a cordial "see you soon". Both knew that after such an afternoon, "soon" would be closer than they could imagine.  
Along the way back Raven was already bothering Clarke with messages. The fear of her late arrivals had almost become a paranoia for Raven, who, unlike Clarke, liked to meet people on time. -Ugh- Clarke sighed as she emerged from the subway.  
Once she got to the house, Raven shouted from her room down the corridor: "Where have you been?!"  
"I’ve been busy!" Clarke answered, entering her room.  
"Blondie! You know we’re going to be late, right?" her roommate said, peeking from the door of Clarke’s bedroom.  
"Oh, Raven! Don't worry, I only need to change and I will be ready. O said we should wear something simple, right?"  
"Uh, yes. We'll meet at his house, not a fancy place."  
After a few minutes, Clarke came out of her room and met Raven's gaze, which had been glued to her phone until a few seconds earlier.  
"Griffin..."  
The blonde raised an eyebrow. "What?"  
"I know that face! It's the post-orgasm look! You... GRIFFIN!"  
The scrutinised girl threw her hands in the air. Then she rolled her eyes. Why did her friend know her post-orgasm face and why did she always have to make a scene about it?  
They were no longer in college.  
"And you didn't tell me anything! –  
"Hey hey, slow down! There's no written rule that dictates my duty to share my sex life with you," she crossed her arms.  
"It was included since we started sharing everything about our lives."  
Clarke grunted loudly.  
"Well, I shouldn't have listened to you the first day of high school in front of that stupid coffee machine," she said.   
Raven began laughing at the memory of that day. She had had this crazy idea that if she could tweak the machine she would have free coffee all year. The result was disastrous: Raven's hand had been stuck in the coffee machine.  
Clarke had walked by, or rather ran by, that machine to arrive on time for class when she saw the girl who would soon become her future friend and companion of every adventure. She helped Raven and together they were late for class.  
Raven had no problem admitting that in the past she had been a rebel, but that feature had not completely left her. Even today she liked crazy things, reckless adventures and, above all, she liked to annoy her best friend.  
As Raven still looked at her with a raised eyebrow, Clarke asked, "Weren’t you afraid of being late?"  
Raven laughed in response, Clarke was right.  
"Griffin, you will tell me everything while we’re driving there!"  
As soon as Clarke started her car -a graduation gift from her parents- Raven began to raise questions about the interesting affair her friend had had during the afternoon.  
"Rae, for the last time: I will not tell you the details"  
"Come on, Clarke! It's been ages since I saw you with that face on" her friend winked.  
Clarke snorted and rolled her eyes. "Why are we still discussing my sex life?"  
"Because lately it was gone but now it is not anymore!"  
"Who knows, maybe the lawyer in question had magical powers..." Clarke said, dropping the first clue.  
An "ohhh" came out of Raven's mouth. "Clarke Griffin has just moved to the Big Apple and already has important people on her to-do list! Congratulations, Miss Griffin."  
The blonde laughed. "We should be there, right? The navigator says so."  
Raven looked around. "Yes, it's that building!" she said, pointing to a typical New York red brick building. Near the sidewalk of the building, a white Maserati was parked behind a black car.  
"Uh, someone rich lives here," Clarke said without thinking too much.  
The two arrived on the third floor looking for 15b. Once in front of the door, they rang the bell, glad to see their friend again.  
Opening the door was a man older and bigger than them in every way: he was tall, muscular and powerful. His slightly dark skin was covered by some tattoos that made his smile and his eyes stand out.  
"You're Clarke and Raven, right?"  
"And you should be the guy who stole our best friend, right?" Raven promptly replied with irony.  
He laughed and then answered: "I'm afraid so."  
Clarke chuckled as she entered the vast loft. It was not too large, yet it was furnished in such a way that it looked as if it were.  
Before Clarke could observe the situation around her two arms surrounded her. "Hey, O! We have not seen each other for like... a day"  
"I know, but I thought you would be late," she said pulling away from her friend. Raven joined in the laughter that came from Octavia's mouth.  
"Today both of you have something against me, don’t you? Have you signed a secret agreement or something?" Clarke asked annoyed.  
"Oh honey, have you forgotten that we're like this every day with you?" Octavia winked and then went near Lincoln and whispered something in his ear.  
He nodded in response and then turned to the two friends who were curiously glancing about Lincoln's loft. "Girls, I'll give you a tour of the house and then I'll introduce you to the people that are already stealing your food..."  
Octavia chuckled and then disappeared.  
The two friends started to follow Lincoln. They moved away from the living room and entered a long white kitchen. "This is the kitchen and someone told me not to let Clarke in!" Lincoln said, winking.  
Clarke snorted. When would her friends stop teasing her for small home accidents during college? By then she had surrendered to the label of “very bad cook”. On the other hand, she was always exonerated from preparing dinners, buffets and all sorts of food for meetings between friends, birthdays and the like, so it was also a small advantage.  
Returning to the living room, Lincoln took a narrow dark metal staircase and went to the second floor. Raven followed him closely and Clarke was amazed by the fact that the apartment had two floors.  
A modern-looking room opened before their eyes. "And on the mezzanine there is a bedroom with a small bathroom. My home is nothing special, but I wanted to make you feel comfortable."  
"I like your taste Lincoln!" Clarke said.  
"Thank you, Clarke. Now I’ll take you two to my favourite part of the house to get to know the other guests," he said, opening the large glass door that illuminated the room.  
As soon as he opened, Clarke could clearly make out two female voices chatting. Being still inside the room she couldn't figure out exactly where it came from.  
As soon as she stepped onto the brick balcony, two shapes materialized on the left parapet. One of them was turned towards the inside of the balcony and Clarke could look at it in its entirety: grey t-shirt, piercing eyes, beer in one hand and two toned legs wrapped in tight jeans. She listened carefully to the words the girl next to her was saying: "I cannot yield an inch in Japan and you know it, I’ll have to focus on that completely. That's why I want you to follow the Paris practices."  
The girl who was talking was giving her back to the whole balcony and to Clarke. Her elbows rested on the dark railing, and all Clarke could see was a cascade of dark, wavy hair and the back of a black leather jacket that almost blended in with the dark pants she wore.   
"Girls, I thought I was clear about this: no one talks work tonight," Lincoln interrupted the chat almost making them jump.  
The blonde with the beer in her hand grinned and nodded, then laid her eyes on the two newcomers. The other one turned her head a little, barely meeting the boy's gaze.  
"I’ll introduce you to Octavia's friends and then we can turn our attention to the food!"  
"Finally, I'm starving," Raven commented, not really teasingly.  
On hearing that sentence, the dark-haired girl turned to Lincoln, holding her glass tightly. When Clarke's gaze landed on her, she felt a shiver run down her spine. She tried not to show any reaction since the other had remained impassive and serious while keeping her eyes focused on Clarke.  
"Raven, Clarke, these are Anya," he said, pointing at the blonde, "And Lexa. They are my childhood friends"


End file.
